In the Cold Light of Morning
by ladynaberrie
Summary: What's dead should stay dead but doesn't. Directly after the events of All Hell Breaks Loose, Sam and Dean find themselves in the midst of the hungry living dead.


"I still think we should celebrate."

"And I still think we should get to work on getting that damn deal you make undone," Sam said.

Dean just looked forward at the road ahead. Sam hadn't said anything more about what he had done to bring him back since he had killed the yellow eyed demon. He knew it would come up again quick, but he didn't think it would come up that soon. He also knew it WAS something that needed to be dealt with quick. 364 days was not a lot of time at all. Still, he would have liked just one full day to savor the victory or at least an hour to enjoy a cold beer… or twelve.

"I know, Sam. I know," Dean said. "I just… can't we just enjoy the moment? We're not dead. Ol' Yellow Eyes is rotting or whatever dead demons do when they are toast. Ellen is alive. Bobby is Bobby…"

"And you're a marked man."

"What else is new?"

"DEAN!"

"I know! Just… we're going to pull up to the first bar we can find. You and I are going to kick back and drink. We're going to drink until Bertha the Waitress looks attractive. One of us, maybe even both of us are going to get laid, preferably to someone who isn't buckets of crazy. Then, then I swear we will deal with this hole I dug myself into. Okay?"

Sam stared ahead, lips pursed.

"Okay?"

"Fine."

"Alright!"

"I could use a drink anyway. Or three."

"I heard that."

Dean got off at the next exit.

* * *

The Impala came to a screeching stop in the parking space closest to the door. Dean smiled. That had to be a good omen.

"I think the brakes are off," Sam said, while getting out of the passenger side.

"The car's fine," Dean said dismissively. "The car's perfect." He stroked the hood.

"There's a motel over there if the two of you need to go get a room."

"He's just jealous, baby." Dean walked towards the bar. "Come on, I'm buying."

Sam rolled his eyes and followed Dean to the entrance. When they entered, they found themselves in a fairly decent crowd for a weekday night. The bar stools were full. A few people sat nursing the odd beer or rum and coke. There were a few couples by the jukebox dancing… badly. Clearly, they already had a few or honestly thought they knew how to move. It didn't matter, none of it did.

Sam plopped himself down at the nearest booth and Dean followed suit.

"Nice place," Sam said, looking around.

"Yeah, they have curtains," Dean said. He found himself missing the Roadhouse. This place seemed about a class too high for him. The Roadhouse was more his gig. In its last days, it hadn't exactly been safe for Sam, but it was more his kind of people. Hunters. People who knew that things didn't just go bump in the night, that they bumped and could swallow you whole. These people seemed a bit too minivan and 9-5 for him. They didn't get him and it was mutual. Tonight though, so long as the beer was cold, he didn't care.

After about seven minutes, a pretty waitress with brown hair came up with a bowl of peanuts and set it down in front of them.

"Evening, boys," she said with a smile. "What'll it be?"

Dean sat back and put on his best face. Sam looked about ready to set his head down on the table and disappear. He knew what was coming. "Evening…" Dean looked at her nametag. "Carla. Me and my brother here will start off with a pitcher of the good beer and a few shots of whiskey."

Carla raised a brow. "You're not fooling around tonight, are you?"

Dean smiled. "No ma'am, we're not. We had a good night."

"I bet you did." She disappeared to the bar, but not without a long glance at Dean.

Sam reached into the bowl and cracked open a peanut. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What?"

"We haven't even been here ten minutes and you're already hitting on the waitress."

"Like you wouldn't have. Did you get a good look at her? I mean, damn."

Sam shrugged. "She's hot, I'll give you that."

"She's hot, I'm hot. It's meant to be, Sammy."

"My, don't we think a lot of our self? Don't you think she's probably used to that?"

Carla reappeared with the drinks. "You boys take it slow now, okay?" She brushed against Dean as she set down the tray. Dean smiled over at Sam who pointedly ignored the interaction.

Dean winked. "Will do, Carla. Thanks."

Carla winked back and vanished. Dean smiled, his eyes following her as the crowd swallowed her. Sam, just shook his head and downed a shot. "You're unbelievable."

"I'm adorable."

"You know she's just being all coy for the tips."

"Being dead has made you cynical, Sammy."

Sam just shook his head again. "Whatever. Have at it. I don't care. If it makes you happy…"

Dean's eyes widened. "What's in that whiskey? You're being all agreeable like." He reached over and took a shot glass. The contents vanished in a second. "Damn, that's good whiskey."

"I guess I'm just in a good mood after all."

"'Bout damn time."

"Really stupid decisions aside. We did good tonight. We all did. Even Dad."

"Yeah," Dean said, his tone suddenly sad. "Especially Dad." He didn't think he'd ever forget the image of John Winchester appearing out of no where and wrestling the Demon out of his host for those few seconds. If he hadn't, it all would have been over. All of it. If John Winchester could climb out of hell… well. Maybe there was some hope that he could escape it, too.

The boys looked down at the pitcher for several moments, saying nothing.

"I think we should make a toast," Dean said, suddenly. He poured out two glasses, sliding one over to Sam. Same took the glass and held it up. "To Dad."

Sam nodded. "And Mom."

Dean nodded hard. "And to happy endings."

"However long or short they may be."

The boys drank.

* * *

Sam woke up on the floor.

He rolled from his side to his back and stared up at the ceiling and attempted to get his bearings back. His head was throbbing and his stomach felt like it would come up his throat at any moment. He could only imagine what Dean would say.

Quickly, Sam sat up and immediately regretted it. He scrambled off the floor and to what he hoped was the bathroom and promptly vomited. He held the bowl and pressed his head against the cool porcelain for several moments before attempting to get up.

Exiting the bathroom, he found himself in a motel room. Having very vague memory of the night before, he could only assume it was the one he had pointed out when they had first pulled up to the bar.

The bar. Yes, that was the last thing he could remember. Dean had bet him he couldn't finish off a bottle of tequila. Being too drunk to realize how stupid that was, Sam had taken the bait and had succeeded. Everything after that was a haze of alcohol. He could remember Dean dancing with Carla by the jukebox. Well, maybe it wasn't dancing. There seemed to have been a lot of hands involved. It was groping masquerading as dancing.

He sniffed his shirt and could smell a mix of alcohol, smoke, and… women's perfume? He shook his head a bit. He couldn't remember a woman. He looked at the two beds. One was very, very messed up and the other looked like it hadn't been touched. Just what the hell had happened last night?

"Dean?"

No answer. Whatever Dean had been up to hadn't been there. There was no sign of him.

He stuck his head out the window. The Impala was parked right where it had been last night. Sam glanced over at the clock. 11:13 A.M.

Sam looked out the window again. It was awful still outside. Granted, this wasn't exactly a bustling metropolis, but it was a fairly decent sized town. There should be more people outside. Did the whole town decide to sleep in?

Down below, he saw three people stumbling about on the street. Apparently, he wasn't the only very hung over person there. Last night clearly was party night for everyone.

He went back to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. It didn't help much, but it did help.

Sam left the motel and started walking back towards the bar and the Impala. He had a pretty good guess what Dean had done last night, but that was last night. It was morning now and they needed to move on. There was a war going on now and they needed to get on that, never mind sorting out the trouble Dean had gotten himself into for his benefit.

There was a crunch of gravel behind him. Sam whirled around to find a bloodied woman coming around the corner.

"Hey!" Sam shouted.

The woman looked up and growled.

Sam's brows went up and he began walking towards her. "Hey lady, are you okay?"

At once, the woman ran at him, making some sort of guttural noise he had never heard a person make. She grabbed at his shirt and snapped at his face. Quickly, he spun to the left and she was knocked off balance to the ground. Sam himself fell back about three paces.

"What happened?"

She growled from the ground. Sam took a better look at her and he could see part of her torso was torn open, her collarbone exposed to daylight. Her eyes were all wrong, the color was wrong. Her face was pale and dirty.

Sam didn't get the chance to further examine her as she was up off the ground in a flash. She started at him again. This time, he didn't wait for her to get hold of him. He ran.

Behind him, he could hear more growls and more footsteps running. He chanced a look behind him to find the woman had been joined by three others, two just as bloodied and one who looked rotted.

"Son!"

He looked forward again to see a tall, elderly black man holding a door open from the entrance to a hardware store.

"In here! Hurry! In here!"

Sam didn't waste a moment and ran through the door. The man shut the door and locked it.

"Son, are you okay?" the man asked.

Sam didn't get a chance to answer. The door shook behind them as the force of four bodies hit it. They both could hear growling, roaring, and pounding.

"I don't think that's going to hold," Sam said.

The door knob fell to the floor. A hand forced its way through the newly made hole where the knob had been.

"Give me a hand here," the man called out. He was pushing a display case to the door, boxes falling off as he did. Sam ran from the door and helped him push. They managed to get the display against the door just in time for a pale hand to punch through the thin timber.

"I think we need more stuff," Sam said.

"I think we need to get the heck out of here."

"That too." Sam paused. "The windows."

The man looked at Sam. The storefront glass was shattered and one of snarling things fell through. Sam picked up a shovel from the wall and swung it, catching it on the chin. It didn't stay down for long or alone. The woman was next through the window and the other was off the floor, both came at Sam.

A long bang sounded. Then man had grabbed a shotgun from under the cash register and had gotten a bullet right into the woman's forehead. She fell down and stayed down this time. The other quickly followed.

"Thanks," Sam said.

"Don't mention it."

The other two came through. This time, Sam was a bit more prepared. He brought the shovel down square atop the head of the first. He heard another bang and a thud. The one he had hit with the shovel was still moving, still snarling. So he brought down the shovel again. Again. Again. Something cold and wet hit his face and he still brought the shovel down.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Son. Son, I think you can stop now. I think he's dead."

Sam looked down at the body at his feet. It was a boy. He couldn't have been more than thirteen years old.

"Oh God," Sam said, quietly.

The man looked down. "You had to. He was going to kill..."

"Us both. I know." Sam still looked down. His eyes drifted away to his own clothing. It was wet, red, and stunk of iron. He felt sick again.

The man kept his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Now I think we need to get ourselves out of here quick. There's bound to be more and this place isn't exactly secure."

Sam pressed his hands against his face. "Do you have any more guns, any bullets?"

"This is a hardware store, son. Not a gun shop. I got another case and that's it."

They didn't get a chance to think or say anything further. There was a sound of more feet and growls outside.

"Upstairs," the man said.

Sam picked up his shovel and followed the man to the back. A door was flung open and they ran up the stairs to the apartment above. The man locked the door and Sam went for the large curio cabinet and pushed it against the door. The man pulled a bookshelf from the other side of the room. Sam helped him shove it against the door as well.

"Hope that'll hold," the man said. He turned to Sam with his hand held out. "Name's Earl."

"Sam." He shook Earl's hand, but not with much enthusiasm. He was shaking a bit now.

"Nice to meet you, Sam. Under the circumstances and all."

Sam walked past the man to the window and looked out. Outside, he could see people shambling below. Some were running. Some were running away. He could hear screaming a bit too close for comfort. A small crowd was gathering below the window, hands reaching up. Snarls. They were jumping, but it was thankfully far too high.

Earl came up beside him.

"All heck's breaking loose out there."

"No shit."

"Language, son. Language."

Sam saw a phone and picked up on. Silence.

"Phones have been out since I woke. You got a cell phone?"

Sam pulled it out of his pocket and immediately dialed Dean. Dean. Oh God.

"Nothing. No signal. Nothing."

"Damn."

Sam went back to the window and looked out. His eyes widened when he saw other figures on the roof a block over. He pulled himself out the window and grabbed onto the gutter. For a moment, he lost his grip on one hand and dangled in the air. Then he regained his grip and pulled himself up onto the roof.

"Hey! You be careful!" Earl called out.

Sam pulled himself up on top of the roof and walked towards the edge. He looked down the block and could see four people on the roof across the way. He squinted in the midday sun at them.

"SAMMY!"

It was Dean on the other roof. Behind him was a woman and what looked to be two children, a boy and a girl. He assumed the woman was Carla. Same hair.

"DEAN!"

"SAM! ARE YOU OKAY?"

"YEAH! YOU?"

"I'M JUST PEACHY."

Sam allowed himself a big sigh of relief. Dean was okay. He could see a similar crowd forming at the apartment building Dean had holed up in forming at the doors and windows.

"I THINK WE HAVE A PROBLEM!"

"REALLY! I HADN'T NOTICED."


End file.
